Page 17 of Charmingly Obsessed
“Nobody’s gonna answer to you,” the young one spits, defiant but sweating now.
“Just give him the damn number, Wanya,” Stocky sighs, defeated. “Waste of time standing here.”
A number is reluctantly produced.
Frez taps it into his phone without looking, his expression unreadable granite. He makes no sound as the three men shuffle out, casting uneasy glances back at the silent, imposing figure dominating the hallway.
The second the door closes behind them, Frez slams the deadbolt home. The sharp thud echoes in the sudden, suffocating silence.
He turns. Slowly. And the full force of his controlled fury hits me. My carefully prepared explanations, my pleas for him to stay out of it, evaporate. I’m left speechless, pinned by the storm brewing in his eyes.
He doesn’t speak immediately. He moves, pacing the small space, circling me like a caged tiger, deliberately avoiding my gaze. The silence stretches, scraping against my raw nerves.
I fidget with the stupid ribbon on my blouse. It feels flimsy, inadequate.
“You don’t think I matter at all, do you?” His voice is low, rough with suppressed anger. “My opinion, my help… it means nothing to you.”
“What? What the hell are you saying?” My hands drop to my sides.
He shakes his head, a gesture of sharp disbelief, then slaps the stack of confiscated documents hard against his thigh. The sound cracks through the tension. “Maybe you’re a secret Krav Maga expert, Diana,” he snaps, finally looking at me, his eyes blazing. And God help me, even his anger sends a ridiculous jolt of warmth through me. Just seeing that fire directed at me. “Got a black belt tucked away somewhere? Because you were expecting those apes, weren’t you? Just waiting for them to show up?”
“You saw them! They weren’t aggressive! We had an arrangement—”
“You were waiting,” he cuts me off, a harsh, bitter laugh escaping him. “Just like I suspected. And you shut me out. Lied to my face. I am so unbelievably pissed off right now, I can barely speak. How could you not call me? How could you think you could handle this alone?”
“I had agreed.” I try to explain, desperation making my voice thin. “Anya signed over her share before… before… This is the debt. I don’t have the money. I give them my half, they leave me alone. There’s nothing left for them to take after this!” I can’t tell him about Kozar. Can’t tell him this might not be the end. Can’t tell him Frez himself is tangled in the same web that destroyed my family.
Frez slaps the papers against his leg again, tilting his head back, exhaling sharply through his nose. He nods once, a sharp, decisive movement. Like a general committing to battle.
“You’ll have to trust me on this, Diana. The apartment stays yours. They mentioned a meeting tomorrow? With a notary?” He waves a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not going.”
“Mykola,” I start softly, trying to regain control. “Thank you. Really. But you don’t understand the whole picture. I’m moving anyway. We need a new arrangement for work—”
“Well, I don’t know the whole picture because someone refuses to tell me!” he snaps. The feverish gleam I saw yesterday dims slightly, his mouth relaxing fractionally. “Just trust me,” he repeats, softer now.
“This isn’t about trust, it’s about survival!” I insist, twisting the ribbon. “They’ll find me later if I don’t cooperate now, and it will be so much worse.”
His voice is a low, guttural vow. “Over. My. Dead. Body.” He steps closer, invading my space with burning eyes. “No one finds you. No one touches you. No one hurts you again while I’m still breathing.”
And for the first time, disappointment cuts through the fear and the unwanted attraction. Even onthat day, the day he hurt me, it wasn’t like this. Making impossible, theatrical promises.
It sounds impressive, sure. Frez excels at dramatic pronouncements. But this is my life.
“Let’s… let’s just have coffee,” I sigh, defeated for now. “I still have pastries.”
“No.” He tilts his head, scrutinizing me, that intense focus back. “Don’t try to distract me with pastries, Diana. Delicious as they were. Promise me. You are not going anywhere tomorrow.”
The silk ribbon feels cold, alien against my skin. The hallway is drafty. I feel trapped between his immovable will and the crushing weight of my reality. What choice do I have?
“If you just pay them, they’ll take the money, sure. But they’ll still come for the apartment, Mykola. They want this.”
“Leave. That. To. Me.” His voice cracks like a whip again, loud in the enclosed space, making me flinch. He visibly forces himself calm, leaning in, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow resonates louder, vibrating through my bones. “Trust me, Diana. Please. I understand why you might think… everything I do… is some kind of joke at your expense. My behavior has been… less than rational. But trust me on this.”
I try. I try to reconcile the man who kissed me with bruising intensity last night, the man whose touch sets my skin on fire, with the idea that it wasn’t a joke. It’s easier now, after last night, after the way he looks at me, like I’m a puzzle he’s desperate to solve.
But how long will this last? This intense focus, the kisses, the impossible job offer, the possessive protection? It’s his classic pattern: throw himself into a new obsession with all-consuming intensity, only to grow bored and discard it just as suddenly.
It feels like a dream, a dangerous, intoxicating dream I need to wake up from before it shatters.
